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Namora had a spear she wished to dull upon one surface dweller’s ribs. If this woman could sneak into their caves, then she could sneak onto this woman’s beach. But as she gripped her spear tight in her fingers, she saw a small boy tug at his mother’s skirts, run screaming in delight as she made herself a monster mask of seaweed. It would do no good to kill the child under their alliance. This had to be done without a fuss, without anyone knowing.
She would watch.
Namora watched for many days. She watched the surface woman sew shells from her lands into her hair. She watched her teach all of the surface children about the sea. She taught them about all of the life that lives there, how important it is that humans respect and protect the ocean. She taught them that water connects all life. The woman talked about how she came from water, not the ocean but the rivers of Africa. She shared in hushed tones with the children that when she missed her homeland, she would come to the water and know that she was home.
Namora had drowned the woman's kin in those rivers. It had seemed so necessary at the time. She did not think she regretted what was done. The woman kept her pain well hidden from the children, and only by dark did she add more salt to the sea. Namora envied the way she released her pain.
And still she watched.
It infuriated her that she didn’t lure this woman to the ocean and be done with it. But when the little angelfish strayed too far from the woman and was pulled out to deep water, she did not let the boy drown. Namora saved him. She sent a gentle ray to swim him close to shore. She watched the way the woman, Nakia was her name, embraced him as the most precious object in the world. She watched the fear and sorrow she had hidden shine plain on her face. Namora wondered what it would be like to feel such grief. Hers was stored in the depths.
She found Nakia that night, alone on the beach. She let the water play at her feet.
“I know you’re out there. I can feel you watching me.”
Namora said, in her native tongue, “I came to bleed you for the sharks.”
Nakia said, also in Namora’s native tongue, “Then do it.”
Instead, Namora sat on the empty beach with her, a safe distance. The air felt so strange on her skin. She felt so light she might blow away. It took conscious effort to breathe only from her mouth, to let the salt flow. It was dangerous to be on land. It was dangerous to let Nakia live.
“I’m sorry, for the sister I took from you,” she said at length. Despite the danger, Nakia stared at the water, her arms wrapped around her knees. She still had shells in her hair. The moon made Nakia’s skin glow blue, like Namora's people. Namora swallowed a gulp of water and looked away.
“I’m not sorry for protecting my people,” Namora said because it was true. “She was my cousin. We are all related, every one of us. We’re all part of the same whole. To lose one of us is to lose all of us.”
The woman stared at the stars, her eyes heavy with longing. “I think I understand.”
Namora hesitated, drew up her own knees. “I am sorry for your pain. You are too beautiful to look so sad.”
Nakia held her gaze for just a moment, a small smile on her lips. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“For an air breather,” she retorted, standing to break this spell on her. She waded into the water. “Do not linger in the ocean should I change my mind.”
“Why did you save my son?” It was less curiosity and more a challenge. Namora frowned. She did not believe in the alliance. She believed the surface world was a threat. But maybe… maybe there was more to them. Maybe there was room for women with shells in their hair who glowed in the moon light.
Just before the water took her, she heard Nakia call: “How many hundreds of miles did you swim just to see me?”
Too many, and not enough.